I've updated the game. 

Situational update: 

• Ghlahn has made a hole big enough for him to slide through with his bag, not crouch and move through or walk through. The APC is still below but there are no signs of any of the personnel within it.


• Luther's problem is tricky. Without registration, the vehicle can be impounded. That would likely piss off the nomads he's borrowed it from and eliminate the transportation he's arranged for the group.


• The rest of you are split up: Ghlahn is doing his thing, Vegas has gone to find Ghlahn (but is a few minutes ahead of where Ghlahn is at), and you folks are even further ahead and a few blocks away from the action with no idea of what's going on.

I look forward to your next posts.

The Alley Outside the Upstairs Downstairs Inc. Building | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 4:05 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

“There are eight people from Upstairs Downstairs that were on duty the night the kid disappeared,” Blossom explains, holding up the small computer box for emphasis. “They didn’t have a log as to who worked what buildings but I was able to cross reference the security camera footage with the employee pictures and narrowed that down to three who were in the same building as Jace’s dorm. So, we’ve got three possibles. I’ve got their addresses from the employee files.”

“About frackin’ time we get some forward momentum,” Echo breathes. “Heads up. Our landlord is back.”

Rounding the corner, bathed in the sharp red hues of the light, the Asian man limps towards the group of Edgerunners. “You need any more time? Double the price for the next half hour.”

“No. We’re done here,” Casino replies to the their temporary landlord.

Moving the group away and out of the homeless man’s ear shot, Casino puts forth his and Fixer’s different ideas on item disposal and waits for a general consensus of what to do with the computers. Give them to the homeless guy or dump them down the sewer; both ways will rid the group of the ill gotten gains.

Fixer hears Casinos plan and is OK with it, but still thinks the sewer might be wiser. "We can leave it with this guy, but he has seen us. Assuming the company comes looking for it, he can tell them a bit about us. Not a lot, but a bit. If it disappears somewhere—down the sewer or into the crowd, I guess they are less likely to get any intel on us. I'd vote sewers—they aren't going to want to go down there anymore than we do." Pausing a moment he adds, "And grumpy as he might be, we'd be bringing them down for sure on the old guys head. Might be doin' that anyway if they come to this drain, but it seems less likely."

He doesn’t push for it, but he thinks the sewers are the best option. But even better is to move and move quickly.

“It’s too bad we don’t have the time to clean these—” Blossom hoists the computers up and eyes them through her heart shaped sunglasses. “—boxes. Might be able to get a decent amount of credits for them once they’re wiped. That Cred Stick Charlie might even be able to do something with the data to earn us a few more dolla’s.”

Dropping her hand back to her side, Blossom continues, “But, them’s the Fate. I’m good either way. Dump ‘em with the bum or dump ‘em in the drain. I don’t care.”

“If we give them over to him—” Echo nods in the direction of the makeshift shelter. “—and some corporate security comes lookin’ for them; they might stop their search with him. My vote is that we leave them here.”

“That’s cold,” Bloodbank answers. “Drop them in the sewer. There’s no point in putting that man’s life in jeopardy.”

“Naw,” Blossom pops her sucker from her mouth and grins mischievously. “The more I think on it, the more I like Casino’s idea. Give them over to the bum. Maybe he sells them quick and we now have a goosechase for those sardines that’ll likely come looking.”

Exasperated, Bloodbank throws his hands in the air and shakes his head. “His blood is on you lot then.”

Echo holds out her hand and the netrunner places the thin computers into it. Striding away from the group, the nomad approaches the tent calling out softly so as not to accidentally get shot. From his vantage, the medtech watches with narrowed eyes and no small amount of misgivings.

As the group makes a decision and starts out, Fixer can’t help feeling the rush. Like sands through the hourglass, these are the days of Jace's life, the thought floats through his mind. He can’t place where the trite saying came from and it certainly isn’t poetic, but it does express the need for speed.

"Three people?” Fixer abruptly clarifies with the beautiful hacker. “Were any of them the woman Jace seemed to be seen talking to a lot? That was the one person who seemed interested in getting close to him. I'd start there, otherwise lets hit the one closest to this location and get moving."

“One was,” Blossom chirps. “I got her address from her file but shouldn’t we group up again? Ghlahn and Vegas could be handy.”

“At least that I can agree with,” Bloodbank mumbles from behind his combat mask.

Echo crouches, reaches forward, and deposits the computers inside the tent and then rejoins her company. “I told him he should sell them fast. Put some emphasis on the need to get rid of them. What he does from here with them is up to him.”

Taking the olive branch, Bloodbank nods to the road warrior. “Thanks,” he says.

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 04:07 AM PST)

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Near the Parking Garage two blocks from the Upstairs Downstairs Inc. Building | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 03:09 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

Silence drapes the garage and Ghlahn scans the scene for any available shots; finding none.

“You’re a right beast!” a new voice calls from up the garage a ways. “But you’re not getting out of here alive. You’ve signed your death warrant. You realize that?”

No gunfire follows the call. Just the sounds of the street below.

With the prospect of several more sec team members and an armored vehicle arriving soon, Ghlahn knows he is in a tough spot. It is possible that with a bit of luck he can defeat the entire sec team, but not the vehicle, and any reinforcements that are likely on their way seals the deal. There is really only one choice left: escape.

On the plus side, the team has ceased firing and the armored vehicle is likely on its way up the parking garage and no longer on station below.

Holstering his pistol and slithering backwards until he reaches the chain link fence behind him, Ghlahn remains hopeful that the pause while the sec team waits for reinforcements is longer than the time needed to cut the fence. Swivelling about, he activates his bracer’s cutting torch and works quickly burning a hole at the bottom of the fence that will allow him to slip through.

“You still alive, Choomba?” the call from deeper in the garage is only caught because of the cyborg’s enhanced hearing. “Or did we kill you?”

If all goes well, he will be able to hang from the fence and slide down the side of the garage just far enough to grab the fence below and continue downward in that manner. If not, he will simply have to drop and hope for the best. He could possibly die or suffer serious injury but at least he has a chance; if he holds his ground, he is as good as dead in his estimation. Of course, if he doesn’t respond to the hazing they might see a need to come investigate.

(OOC: Respond or not&hellip

Melting through the last link of metal, Ghlahn grips the cut-away piece of fencing with his other hand and pulls it aside as he shuts off his torch. Grabbing his bag, the cyborg extracts himself from beneath the vehicle and crouches below the line of the trunk to sling his bag over his shoulder. Peering down, over the edge, the drop looks much greater than anticipated. Such is the nature of heights. But it isn’t the height that gives the Cee-metal pause. The APC is still parked below. It hasn’t come into the garage.

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 03:11 AM PST)

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the Long Mile Fueling Station | SanFran Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 5:08 AM PST --- Weather Conditions: High City (heavy rain, 20mph winds from the N.) | Midcity (light rain, 10mph winds from the N.) | Undercity (fog and drizzle, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 15 | Midcity = 36 | Undercity = 86 (masks required - Red warning)

Mr. Charlie apologises to Hui Yin and then hangs up, commenting quietly to himself that good help is hard to find in a bind.

In the side view mirror, Cred Stick Charlie witnesses the officer—fully armored in riot gear—approaching on the building-side.

“License and registration, please.”

Handing over his I.D., Luther complies with the officer’s request.

“Registration?” Officer Burns addresses the missing information.

Reaching over to the glove compartment, the well-dressed fixer drops the door open and leans over to peer inside.

“Careful, Mr. Hastiin,” Burns steps back, his hand resting on the grip of his service weapon. “Move slow so we don’t have any misunderstandings.”

The compartment is filled with worthless crumpled papers that are ages old showing service that has been performed by service stations with dates that are more than ten years old. There are a few pens, a single rusted crescent wrench, a couple of ratty elastic hair bands, and a Twinkie still in its package, but there’s no registration.

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 5:09 AM PST)

I have to admit, I'm disappointed in the lack of participation.  I'll keep this going because I enjoy the game but I'm going to NPC player characters where necessary to make sure the story moves forward. I hope our players return.

Thank you to everyone who has posted. I'll have an update soon.

Welcome, Lord Wonderblue! New faces are always welcome here at the Inn. When you are ready, ask a GM if you can join their game or if you feel confident enough, start one of your own. 

I look forward to seeing your contributions.

Let's hope!

Blasted Navy! Kept Giddy from being able to post. That's OK, I've moved the story on. I'm looking forward to everyone's next posts. Keeper, check your PM for some details on things Ghlahn might be considering. Please, everyone, consider the timestamps as you're posting. Kepper is the furthest behind and by default that means Vegas. Espatier is the furthest ahead. Once we finish this firefight for Keeper—if Ghlahn's still alive—I'll do a quick time sweep and bring everyone current.

The Alley Outside the Upstairs Downstairs Inc. Building | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 3:38 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

Approaching what appears to be the opening, a growling voice rolls from inside, “Just ‘cause I don’t live in no fancy conapt don’t mean I can’t defend myself. Roll on, ‘less you want some new holes t’ breathe through.”

"Fair enough," Fixer says as he comes to a halt. "I don't need any more holes and I don't think my companions do either. We do, however, need a place to work quietly for a very brief period of time. This place may not be fancy, as you said, but we would like to rent it from you for an hour. No holes needed for anyone. We will give you a few credits and you just go for a walk for a while. Easy money. Easy money and nobody gets holes. What do you say?"  At this Fixer fishes some a handful of Night City Dollars from his pocket and holds them up as bait.

Silence follows for a moment before the flap of the moldy blue tarp is pulled aside by the barrel of an older model .380 handgun. Just past the weapon, in the shadows of the makeshift tent the dirty and prematurely aged face of an Asian man with overgrown hair and shaggy black facial hair hiding most of his features. Hungry eyes flicker from the breathing mask and the kind eyes of the Techie to the wad of cash in his outstretched hand.

“Not enough,” the Asian man growls. “You’d pay more than that for a hotel room for just one hour. Here you have privacy. Fifty’ll give you a half hour.”

Thinking that the asking price might be a little high, Fixer doesn’t feel the urge to argue. Fishing some more of the brightly colored bills from his pocket, the techie offers them up. Crouching beneath the low-hanging awning, the middle-aged Asian shuffles from within his tent, pulling a moldy discolored bomber’s jacket tighter about his slight frame as he does. Snatching the money from James’ hand, the smelly little man proceeds to count it out before stuffing it deep into his oil-stained jeans pocket.

“One half-hour,” he sniffs. “Don’t touch nothin’ and don’t steal nothin’.”

Casting a ferocious bulging eye at each of them as he passes by, the street urchin makes his way back the way the party had come.

With the resident of the shelter on his way down the alley and out of sight, those on technology duty disappear inside the shelter. James “Fixer” Mathis turns to Casino and remarks, "Back on homeless guard duty, I guess."

Heading back up the alley a bit, the techie looks for a place providing at least a little cover and attempts to conceal himself in a way that makes him look like a napping homeless person. Wet biodegradable cardboard boxes, bio-plastic bags, screamsheets… whatever could be used as solid cover has been. Fixer’s resigned to creating a place upon the remnants of a box that isn’t disgusting to sit upon and pulling some other debris over him to create the ruse.

Casino once again follows Fixer’s lead, doing as he does and finding a place to stand guard without being seen while being mistaken for one of the wretches living in this corridor. As he works, he hopes that they find something to lead them to the boy they had, up to this point, no luck in finding.

Breaking into the big man’s thoughts, Fixer addresses his fellow faux homeless guard, "When they are done, we still need to ditch that stuff. The sewer below may work. It looked deep and if we could find even a semi-intact box it might float 1/2 a block or more away from the entrance. The further the better."

(OOC: Casino’s answer&hellip

As Casino keeps a close eye on their surroundings, his mind drifts to Vegas and Ghlahn, hoping both are ok.

“Oh, this is ripe,” Blossom frowns at the conditions of the damp interior. Holding her pocket flashlight in hand, she sweeps the dingy bedding and small shopping cart filled with odds and ends searching for a place to sit comfortably. “The price of a studio sure doesn’t buy what it used to.”

Twisting about and dropping her bag in the corner closest to the wall, the small woman manages to land on her buttocks with the tails of her coat beneath her, protecting her bare legs from touching anything beneath her. Setting the small, agent-sized box that she had procured from the office building on her crossed calves, Blossom retrieves one of her sets of interface wires and proceeds to connect.

“Keep that light decently covered,” Echo mutters from where she is hunching by the entrance. Peering through the gap, she scans the alleyway beyond. “Don’t want to give any reason for someone to come knocking at the door.”

Sitting between them, Bloodbank is silent as he settles in to watch.

“I’ll not need it at all right about… now,” the wardriver switches the flashlight off immediately drowning her companions in darkness.

Purple hues bleed across everything in the cramped interior as the red neon lights at the mouth of the alley penetrate the blue tarp overhead. Even with this dim light, the bulky shadows of each of the Edgers are difficult to pierce. Details are lost, motions imperceptible, and features a mask of ambiguity. Time would be a lost concept in this dreamland except for the digital clock present in the Runners optic splices. Two-minutes transform into three, three meld into five, and five drip slowly away until nearly ten minutes have passed. A tiny “harrumph” emitted by the netrunner raises hope that she’s done before she returns to her work without explanation. More minutes pass, more smells worm their way through the mask filters and cloth balaclava wrapped about the nomad’s face. Finally, at what seems to be the limit of the time they have purchased, Blossom spreads her hands wide enough to see in the mirky dark.

“All done!” she pleasantly chirps. A barely perceptible click floats through the purple air and her shadow-washed form shifts about until she’s on her booted feet hunched over. “Let’s go before we wind up with lice or something.”

Echo isn’t arguing and slips out through the flap and away from the urban tent a few paces, balaclava covered face turning towards one end of the alley and then the other.

Teaming up with the Fixer and Casino, Echo, Blossom, and Bloodbank huddle together near one of the walls.

“There are eight people from Upstairs Downstairs that were on duty the night the kid disappeared,” Blossom explains, holding up the small computer box for emphasis. “They didn’t have a log as to who worked what buildings but I was able to cross reference the security camera footage with the employee pictures and narrowed that down to three who were in the same building as Jace’s dorm. So, we’ve got three possibles. I’ve got their addresses from the employee files.”

“About frackin’ time we get some forward momentum,” Echo breathes. “Heads up. Our landlord is back.”

Rounding the corner, bathed in the sharp red hues of the light, the Asian man limps towards the group of Edgerunners. “You need any more time? Double the price for the next half hour.”

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 04:05 AM PST)

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Near the Parking Garage two blocks from the Upstairs Downstairs Inc. Building | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 03:09 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

From off to Ghlahn’s front left the sound of automatic weapons fire is immediately accompanied by the high pitched ring of rounds striking metal as twenty to thirty rounds pepper the vehicles over and around him. These are followed by more of the same. Glass breaks, the vehicle covering the Corpore Steel soldier is dancing with the barrage but so’s the yellow sports next to him.

With his eyes still on the targets by the pillar, Ghlahn spots the other soldier in the area pop up and spray rounds his way with a submachine gun while more rounds come in from the left. Oil begins to drain from multiple holes in the engine block overhead spattering down on Ghlahn like dirty rain. Sparks fly and whistling bullets strike right near Alex’s head spitting fragments of cement into his combat mask like tiny bugs against a motorcycle helmet windscreen.

His situation has changed. Six seconds have passed since he started shooting and already Ghlahn feels that he may have eliminated three of the potentially eight from the fight but his left side is now definitely under siege and their reactive barrage of fire is quickly going to be replaced by a more strategic assault.

In the last 10 seconds things have gone to hell. Three of the security forces are down but that leaves perhaps five still in the fight and automatic weapon fire is shredding the car above him.  

"Last chance,” Ghlahn calls out as he shifts about to get into a better position, sparks and shards of cement flying about, “no one has died yet. You guys grab your wounded buddies and pull back and it might just stay that way."

He knows there is little chance they will take him up on the offer but he figures it can’t hurt to try.  Knowing his spot is fully compromised, Ghlahn works quickly. Angling his body he seeks to target the two agents hiding to his left behind the red skull painted car. Even in a firefight it is interesting what he notices.

Twisting about underneath his cover, the Cee-Metal man squeezes the trigger on his Colt and watches in satisfaction as the man across the hood of the black mid-size car flails backwards to fall between the vehicles and out of sight.

From approximately the eleven o’clock hour on the directional dial, automatic fire sprays the hood and grill of the gas guzzler overhead spilling oil and other fluids as well as broken and rusted metal down on Ghlahn’s back. More rounds smack into the front left paneling and blowing out the tire.

Sighting in on the next target, Ghlahn squeezes off another shot just as the man begins to drop below the hoodline, jerking his helmeted head down out of sight as his incendiary round sparks through the metal.

Silence drapes the garage and Ghlahn scans the scene for any available shots; finding none.

“You’re a right beast!” a new voice calls from up the garage a ways. “But you’re not getting out of here alive. You’ve signed your death warrant. You realize that?”

No gunfire follows the call. Just the sounds of the street below.

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 03:09 AM PST)

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the Long Mile Fueling Station | SanFran Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 5:07 AM PST --- Weather Conditions: High City (heavy rain, 20mph winds from the N.) | Midcity (light rain, 10mph winds from the N.) | Undercity (fog and drizzle, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 15 | Midcity = 36 | Undercity = 86 (masks required - Red warning)

Spotting a descent position beneath a streetlamp and in front of a semicircular building face with four stories of glass facing the street, Luther pulls over and stops the vehicle, allowing the winds of the hover turbines the settle and the jeep to slowly lower to street level.

Luther sighs. “Fine... but I find this unnecessary as I'm trying to home. Thank you, Dispatch."

<= Very well, sir. =>

Behind him, the patrol car swings its nose out towards the street for an easier departure, blues and reds still flashing, reflecting both off of the wet street and the windows of the buildings around them.

Luther rechecks his I.D. and keeps his hands on the dash so that they can be seen as well as the I.D. and waits for the officer to speak to him. Choosing to dial Hui Yin, just in case something goes south.

<= Hello? Mr. Charlie? Is that you? Why are you calling me so early? This is not cool. =>

Luther explains that he is getting pulled over and want her on the line to listen in.

<= You call me at five in the morning because you want me to listen in? I was on a beach with Pan Feng and you ruined it, Mr. Charlie. =>

In the side view mirror, Cred Stick Charlie witnesses the officer—fully armored in riot gear—approaching on the building-side.

“License and registration, please.”

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 5:08 AM PST)

Thanks for the post, MagicMan!

Excellent! 

I've restarted us. Looking forward to your posts.

Stardate: 2365.03.29 (Sunday - 42031.4)

USS George Washington Carver, Bridge, Deck 1 - 1051 Alpha Shift

…

“Mister McGinty,” Captain Rouhani rises from her chair and steps forward placing herself next to her XO. “Continue to work on those scans. Mr. Wilhelm, assign someone to work on augmenting the scans to gain better penetration. Mr. Cole, please get the WaveRider underway.”

“Aye, sir,” Max nods and turns to the turbo lift. “Let’s go, folks.”

Confident that the preassigned away team will follow, Cmdr. Cole strides to the lift and turns to await his team. The walk to the ventral side is filled with conversational conjecture. Without knowing what is deflecting the scans, how can we prepare the WaveRider for the worst? Is there anything that we should bring with us that we haven’t considered? What proposals can we put on the table for our approach? Do we have any probes aboard the WaveRider?

This conversation continues into the specialized shuttlecraft. Stepping aside to allow Lt. Falcone to move into the pilot seat. Siric takes his place flight ops station, Sari Uhnari takes science station 1, Lt. Draci stands at science station 2, Lt. Wilhelm at flight engineering, Stark takes a seat at the sensor station with Crewman Bragan standing nearby, which leaves the auxiliary station to Cole.

“Mr. Falcone,” Max calls forward, “Take us out. Bring us within a few kilometers of the outer atmosphere. Mr. Uhnari and Lt. Wilhelm, please prepare a probe. We need to see into that atmosphere or we’ll never be able to land this bird.”

Anyone else? If not, I'll continue with those that I have.

So... ya... was there, like, a mass New Year Resolution to stop all activity at the Inn? If so, I didn't get the memo. Where is everyone?

That's three (Giddy has expressed an interest in continuing). May I have another?

I hope you saved the link, Tann, because I killed him.

Consider this a seasonal break.  We're all rooting for you, Olan.

I'm going to attempt to email the other players and see if they are interested in continuing. If not... well, I guess that's that.

Thank you, but I don't see that happening. I haven't done anything professionally in years.

Excellent. Thank you. I need a post from Tann and Giddy. I know Giddy is working graveyard shifts right now so I might end up posting for him. I'll check with him and see what he needs me to do. The Navy should not interfere with our game time!!! 

Killed 'em.

Excellent. That's a start. Any others?

Righteous. I'll let you know when it happens.

I'm pleased. Maybe when I finally publish a book you'll pick one up.